When the Fellowship visited our marching band!
by Cass1
Summary: Hey! Now updated! Chapters 5 and 6 up!
1. Their arrival

When the Fellowship visited our band!

(A/N: At our school, we have what we call band camp, which is where every day for a week we come in and go and learn marching technique and music and our competition drills for marching band. This is the tale of how different things would have been at camp if our favorite people (THE FELLOWSHIP!!!!!) had stopped by for a visit! And I'm writing this like I was there, since I was!)

(A/N#2: ahem…this was written because the idea came to while at that camp, and I need something to get over writer's block. You _have_ been warned!)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the fellowship (though I wish I could own a few! Mmmmwwwwwahahahah!) and I certainly don't own most of the other people in the story, because they're real…of course, name changing has gone on so as not to offend….but just read the story already!

It was Monday at band camp, the very first day, and things were off to a pretty good start (except, of course, for the heat, which was stifling, and the sun, which was quickly giving all of the members of the band a bright sunburn—or in the case of a lucky few, a nice tan.

We, of course, didn't know our music yet, and probably wouldn't soon, but we could, and did, still march without it. We were marching from set number three to set number four counting each and every step. "One, two, three, four, five, si—hey! What's that?" "Hey, people, that's a 12 count move! Don't stop now!" yells our director, wondering why we've all stopped. He's up on a big tall podium thing, and he can't see what we're looking at. 

"Wow!" I yell in excitement, running from my spot eagerly. Everyone else follows me. Our band director turns around in confusion, and then sees the people who have suddenly appeared behind him. The Fellowship! And they look rather confused, and slightly frightened. (And alas, who can blame them? I've just brought them to another world, or the future, or however you want to interpret the connection between our earth and Middle-Earth.) Several people I know who have seen the movie only once and didn't pay much attention and who can only figure out who Frodo is if you describe a character to them start pointing and saying "Hey, look! It's the actors from that one movie, Lord of the Rings! What are they doing _here_?" 

I roll my eyes. Obviously, these poor people do not understand that these are not _actors_. This is the Fellowship themselves. Others, like myself, who've read the book and seen the movie multiple times, run up to the Fellowship eagerly and crowd around them, trying to explain to their clueless friends that this _is_ the Fellowship. I, however, am busy talking to the nine very confused people who I've brought here. 

"Hello, or good morning, or greetings and salutations, or whatever you want to say. I am Cassandra. I already know who you are—you're the Fellowship of the Ring. However, I bet you're a bit confused as to why you're here." Aragorn steps forward and says, "Yes, my dear Lady Cassandra, I was about to ask you about that." I grin at being called a lady. "I'm no lady, but I thank you for your kindness," I say, and then add, "and anyone who truly knows that you are the fellowship, not just actors, can be a bit confused about your names, alright?" Aragorn nods. "I see the wisdom in that, Cassandra," he says, and nods. 

The hobbits and Boromir nod as well, and Gandalf does also after some consideration. Legolas, however, steps forward. "Yes, but, Lady Cassandra, how did we come to be here?" he asks. "Well, Legolas, you see, I believe that I, about a week after this day, will begin to write a story, and I think that in that story, you are brought here." "What? You're an author?" he asks. I nod, and he goes dead white and backs away. "You see, I got the idea for this story but a few moments ago, and I'm sure next Monday will be when I have the time and energy to begin it. Plus, I'll probably be bored by Monday."

Now the entire fellowship has drawn away in total fear, and Gimli has begun to heft his ax. I look at him, and then at the various members of the Fellowship. "Oh!" I yell, realizing I've scared them. "I'm so sorry you guys! I didn't mean to scare you! Let me explain, ok? One, I'm _not_ an obsessive slash fan, ok?" They all sigh in relief, especially Sam, Frodo, Legolas, and Aragorn. "There's not gonna be any of that sick stuff going on here." Several other band members have been crowding around, and one asks "What the heck is slash?" "I'll explain later," I say casually, "let me finish." The other band members respectfully back off, seeing that I know what I'm doing. (Ah, the joys of being an author!) "Two, I promise you all, especially the hobbits and Legolas, that there won't be any torture of any kind in this fic—at least not of you," I amend. "I might torture some other people," I say, throwing my glance to a particularly annoying member of the band. "That includes abuse of any kind, rapes, beatings, whatever some people come up with. And third, I myself will protect you all from obsessive fangirls—all except myself, of course! And I promise I will keep my admiration down to a minimum" (or will I? ::giggles::) "and pretty much that will center only around Legolas, seeing as how Aragorn, my second most adorable dear, already is madly in love with a wonderful lady. Now. Let's get you set up."

"What do you mean by 'set up?'" asks Gandalf suspiciously. I still can't blame him. Poor guy, he thought his magic could keep them semi-safe. He at least never thought he'd come _here_ with the Fellowship. "Yes, Cassandra, what do you mean?" asks our director, who is taking this all quite in stride. I mean, you have nine strangers pop up out of the middle of nowhere, get told they're the characters from a book come to life, and you're in charge of the welfare of a hundred high-schoolers who've crowded around these heavily armed strangers. How well would _you_ take it?

"Well, Gandalf, Mr. Sanders, the Fellowship is going to join us for the marching season." "But they aren't written into any of the moves or anything!" cries our conductor (who's name, for the purposes of this fic, is Mr. Sanders). "What are we going to do with them?" "Oh, I'll fix that," I say happily, taking the charts from his hands. "Legolas, here's the music for you," I say, taking Mr. Sanders's score (the thing that has all the parts in it) and handing it to him. "Write in parts for two oboes." "Ok," he says, and begins to do so. I grin, thankful that being an author means you can give these sort of talents to people, and order my brother to go home and get my oboe, and then tell him to go to my friend Stephanie's house and get hers, also, since she's not in band anymore. 

He actually does, quite to my surprise, before I remember that I'm an author. "Cassandra, oboes don't march, you know that," says Mr. Sanders (this is due to the tuning of the instrument, which has to do with where the reed is positioned in your mouth. You move your arms up and down for the tuning, and it's just too complicated to do on a marching field. You'll only be in tune if you're standing still..) "Legolas can keep the oboe in the right place if he tries. He's an elf. And I'll just learn how to do so," I say firmly, hurriedly taking the neckstrap of my alto saxophone off my neck. 

My section stares at me in horror. "What are you doing? We're already missing one alto! We can't be missing two!" one of my section leaders yells in horror. "No, don't worry. Aragorn will be taking my place, and Boromir will be taking mysterious Kevin-who-nobody-knows-where-he-is's place, alright?" "They're full grown adults, Cassandra. They can't march in the band!" protests Mr. Sanders. "No they aren't. Now they're just really tall and mature looking high schoolers. Alright?" "But I don't know, Cassandra," he says, unsure. "It seems a little unfair." "Mr. Sanders," I say eagerly, "these are trained swordsmen. They have grace and control over their movements. They'll fit in fine. And besides, we want to be good enough to get into that really famous Hawaii parade, right?" "Well, yes…" "And they'll help you with your fencing club, as well, alright?" "Well, alright, then. I suppose they can stay. But what about the rest of them?" 

"Well, you have to let Legolas stay. That's not an option," I say. "And if we trim Gimli's beard, then.." "No! Not my beard!" yells Gimli. I thought you said no cruelty!" "All right, but you'll have to tuck it into your marching uniform. OK?" "Alright," he says, thankful that he gets to keep his beard. "What's he going to play, Cassandra?" asks Mr. Sanders. "Well, you see, one of the drummers is going to be moving away, so he'll sit out this week, and Gimli will take his place. And the hobbits," I say with a wicked smile," will, of course, be welcome additions to the pit!" (The pit are the people with like, the mallets and gong and timpani and other instruments that don't march.) "We already have all of the people we need," protests the man who comes in to help the percussion work. "Too bad," I say, "you'll just have to borrow the middle school's extra xylophones, ok?" He glares at me, but Mr Sanders suddenly nods. "She's right, that would be a good idea. It would bring out the pit more—and I always welcome additions to the rest of our band. But what about him?" he asks, pointing at Gandlaf. 

"Well, he's obviously too old to pose as a high schooler. So we'll make him an official chaperone—he'll mainly be along to watch over the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin. "Why especially us?" asks Merry. "Yeah, Frodo's the Ring Bearer! Doesn't he need special watching?" "Sauron has no power here. Frodo, and the Ring, are perfectly safe here." "So I could leave it here with you forever and everything would be ok?" Frodo asks hopefully. I sigh and shake my head. "No. Though the Ring and Sauron are powerless here, you must return to Middle Earth. "Well, why?" asks Frodo. "Well, for one, because I know of a certain Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien who happens to be your _real _author. He's just letting my plot bunnies and I borrow you for a little bit." I reply. "Oh yes. I forgot about him for a minute," said Frodo sadly. "But don't worry, Frodo. I promise to you, everything will be fine." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Oh, nothing important. Just ignore it, alright?" "Um….ok…" 

"So, now that that's cleared up," I say, with a sad glance at poor Frodo, "let's get these people some instruments!" Boromir is handed one of the school's extra alto saxes, and I give him one of my extra reeds. I look to see if anyone's gone to the middle school and gotten the hobbits instruments. Surprisingly enough, they have (DON'T ask how they got through the locked doors. That's this author's little secret!) and the hobbits are happily experimenting. The man who works with the percussion alone sighs and takes them aside, realizing he has a lot of work ahead of him. Gimli has been given the bass drum that the kid who is moving used to wear, and is quickly taught what he has to do. "I'm not stupid, and I could take your head off with my ax, so you just watch yourself," he snarls to the section leader, who is trying to explain to Gimli what marching band is, exactly. Ryan looks at the ax, and then at Gimli. "Yeah, I bet you could. But I'm your section leader, and you will do as I say." Gimli grumbles, and I grin. 

I look at Legolas, who has been given both oboe cases. I give him Stephanie's, and tell him "I'll let you use of my reeds that I haven't used in about three months, and you can sterilize it or whatever, ok?" He nods, and I show him how to put the oboe together. Then I put my dear together, and grin as I look at her. "Well, Robin, it seems you and I will be making sweet music together again," I tell the instrument affectionately, hugging her closely. Now only Aragorn remains. I hand Robin to Legolas, who is busy acquainting himself with Stephanie's oboe, which I now learn has been given over to him. I hurry over to Aragorn and hand him my own alto saxophone. "Here, Aragorn. This one is yours now," I tell him watching him take it eagerly. "He'll really like you, I'm just sure of it, I've told him all about you!" I cry as he takes it into his hands. "Him?" asks Aragorn, confused. "Oh, yes! This saxophone is also named Aragorn. He does his duty to me as you do yours to Frodo and all of Middle Earth. He is a bit worn looking at times, which you can also be," I say pointedly, and watch Aragorn go red while Boromir laughs. "Not in a bad way—I just mean when the stress of who you are and what you must do catch up with you," I say quickly, and, noticing he still seems slightly offended, add, "but that has certainly not kept Lady Arwen from loving you, just as it has not kept me from loving the sax!" (This isn't entirely true—I love my oboe, but I just barely don't hate my sax!) "You'll get to know him quickly, Aragorn," I tell Aragorn-saxophone calmly. "Don't be confused," I add to Aragorn-human. "you'll see in time that your instrument has a life. You can tell by the way it suddenly feels brighter in your hand, by the way it seems to glow when you pick it up, by the joy you feel running through your fingers when you touch the keys—those are the signs of life in your instrument. Do not be too cruel to him, for this instrument is going to become your constant companion." I finish, and walk over to Legolas, and take Robin from him. He smiles, and nods. "What you say is true. Already I can feel the life-force in this one," he says, pointing to his oboe. I smile. "In time, your instrument will reveal to you its sex and name. Until then, try not to think of such matters," I advise him. He smiles, and nods at me. I look at our director, who in turn asks "So, ware we all ready?" "Yes, Mr. Sanders," I tell him, and move to my new place, written into the performance by Legolas…

And I believe that will become the end of my first chapter! I might write some more, I might not. It all depends on my reviews! So review, all you good fan-fic readers!

Oh, and note, people, I have nothing against torture fics—I even read some of them myself. I just need the entire fellowship to feel comfortable while they're here, ok? R/R!


	2. Practicing at homeand in sectionals

To My reviewers:

ellewyn greenleaf: Hi! Thank you so much for reviewing! yes, band camp was mostly fun…except that I didn't exactly know how to play my alto sax that well, since I, like your friend, am only playing it while I march.

Hildestohl: thank u for reviewing! I'm glad u liked it, and here's your next chapter!

glassneko: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad u like Gimli with the drum…I thought it fit him well. Anyway, a flute actually might fit Legolas better, but you see, I put myself in as an oboe, and I didn't want to be the only one. Besides, if I put him with the flutes, he'd be with most of the people who would be saying, "oh! Look! Some actors! Wait, what are they doing here?" And no, you didn't scare me…   
  
Person who's name I can't see (my third reviewer): Thanks for reviewing! I'll think about putting in a band party…except u know, we'll have to leave out the fondling part. I'm trying to keep it down to a G rating.

Alisyn: Thanks for reviewing. I'm so glad u liked it! Here's the next part!

A/n: this is after the first day of band camp, and we're at my house. My parents are um….not noticing the new addition to my household? I'll have to think about where they are! I'm sorry it's so short, but I had a huge English writing assignment also…my plot bunnies were tired! 

Chapter 2: Practicing at home:

Legolas looks at me in surprise as I show him my bow and arrows. "These were my grandma's," I say. "I've been trying to find out how to work them, but I haven't had a teacher, you see," I explain sadly. "I will help you," he promises, and I grin, happy I can finally do something with the bow and arrow set. "Ok, now that we've eaten, everyone, we're going to have a practice session!" I yell into the house, and watch as the tired fellowship comes out. 

"Do we have to march?" asks a tired Boromir. "Nope, we're going to be getting used to our instruments right now." "What?" asks Gimli, confused. I sigh. (we've somehow managed to spirit away the bass drum Gimli uses and the xylophones for the hobbits.) "We're going to be trying to get to know our instruments. You want to know their names, don't you?" (A/n: the name thing is something some friends of mine and I came up with—we've decided all instruments must be alive, because otherwise, when you were doing everything right, then you'd be playing perfect!)

"Well, I suppose I do," said Gimli, unsure. "I already know mine's name," says Legolas eagerly. I smile at him, approving; usually it takes instruments much longer to introduce themselves. It all depends on the person. The instrument won't ever tell someone it doesn't like its name. He's obviously gained this instrument's approval. "Well, then, Legolas, you go on and tell us," I say. He nods, and says, "I spoke long with this instrument. I believe it is a he—and I think his name is Joel." I smile, because I like the name Joel. 

"I guess I'll go next," says Aragorn. "Cassandra, it sort of freaks me out that the sax and I have the same name…can't we make it Bob or something?" "No, Aragorn's his name," I say firmly. "You could always call him Estel, though. All of your names are his, too." Aragorn sighs but nods. "And besides," I add, "Bob is my name." Pippin giggles. I look at him and ask, "What?" "You said your name was Bob," he explains, and laughs harder. "So?" I ask him, confused. "Bob is a boy's name!" he says, and I glare at him, miffed. "It's just a nickname," I say angrily, and glare at him harder. He looks guilty and says, "I'm sorry, Cassandra." 

I sigh, and just decide to get this over with. "Do any of you think you know your instruments yet?" The rest of them shake their heads, and I sigh in resignation. "Well, then, let's at least practice our music, alright? Alright?" I say more loudly, waiting for a response. I get a bunch of mumbled, "Well, I suppose so….if we have to….why me?" I glare at them, and yell for Gandalf, who appears to glare at the rest of them. I can tell he enjoys it immensely (sarcasm, sarcasm!). My also comes out to help work with Boromir and Aragorn, and I've conveniently kidnapped the adult percussion expert to help Gimli and the hobbits. He's not taking well to being kidnapped, especially not when he has to teach Gimli how to play the bass drum (the hobbits are actually getting alone quite well, since their people tend to be a musical one. Gimli, however, is providing some trouble, seeing as how he refuses to give up his ax and keeps threatening to chop off people's heads with the threat: "I'm not stupid! Don't try to treat me like I am!")

And so we began to practice our music. And it is…interesting? None of the fellowship truly know how to play the instrument I'd put them on, and so I have to fervently try to teach them all how to play….Alas, the things I get myself into! (BAD CASS, BAD!)

**************************************************************************************

umm….chapter 2 ½? :THE SECOND DAY

The next day we showed up at band camp a little bit better off with the music, but still thoroughly tired from the marching, and, in the case of everyone's 4 favorite hobbits, slightly hungry. 

"But what about second breakfast?" Pippin was crying as I shoved him out of the car and into the school. "Pippin?" I ask. "What?" "When you were going to Rivendell with Aragorn, did you get a second breakfast?" "Well, no… but we did get an apple or something each day." (A/N; I don't remember if that happened in the books, it's been a while since I've read _The Fellowship of the Ring_, but it happens in the movie, so I put it in. Okie dokie?) I sigh and say, "Well, Pip, here we don't have time for things like that. You know what? I bet most of the people here haven't even had their first breakfast!" 

All four hobbits stop to stare at me in total and utter horror. "Are they really that poor?" asks Frodo in horror. Sam gasps and says, "But that isn't right! Someone should feed them all!" "No, no, you don't understand," I try to explain. "Some of us just don't get hungry for breakfast. It's a human thing, my dear hobbits." Merry shakes his head and proclaims, "You humans are so odd, do you know that?" The hobbits hurry into the school in a little pack, whispering among themselves. I look at the other members of the Fellowship and laugh. "Hobbits can be so odd," I tell them, and we all smile at the halflings' obsession.

****

And then there were sectionals…oh my…this could be interesting…

(A/N ::giggles:: and now we go to see the sectionals, where each person goes off with all of the other people who play the same instrument and practice the music…I dunno if I needed to explain that, but heck, why not, you know?)

In the _oboe_ sectional: "OK, Legolas, you're picking up on these notes very quickly, you know that? Very good. You do, however, need to work on this part…here, let me show you how to play that high note. I'm sorry, I forgot to teach you that one…" Legolas leans over me to see how my fingers are positioned on the instrumentNothing much is happening in our oboe sectionals at the moment. I'm helping Legolas learn notes, and we're practicing the music, and that's about all. Nothing much. ****

In the _percussion_ (drumline) sectional: "Look, Gimli, I appreciate that you don't think you're stupid, but I also don't think you know that much about marching, You don't know that much about playing a bass drum, either, so just listen to me!" yells the percussion section leader in frustration. "Sure I do," protests Gimli. "And even if I didn't, I could learn just by watching you. I'm a very fast learner, after all." "Ok, then," says the section leader, "play the first measure of the song." Gimli glares at him, and guesses. "Ha! You see? We don't even play during the first measure!"

"Oh, you meant the first song…I was playing the part for the…the third song!" Gimli protests (hehehe…don't get me wrong, Gimli's cool. I love the guy, truly, but I'm having fun imagining he's stubborn beyond belief…and this _is_ supposed to be a humorous fic!) "We don't even have the music for the third song yet!" says one of the other drummers. "Um…." Says Gimli uneasily, "well…"****

In the _alto saxophone_ sectional (now this one should be interesting…I know these guys the best!): "My name is Lia. I'm your head section leader," says Lia, introducing herself to Aragorn. "And I'm Amy," says the other section leader, "your assistant section leader." "Right…"says Boromir in slight confusion. "Um…what's a section leader?" Lia sighed, and the rest of the altos burst out laughing. "well…I guess we'll have to begin at the basics with you guys. Amy, would you take these two guys and work with them, while I work with the rest of the section. Amy grins, tried desperately not to laugh at these poor men, both who are looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute. "Sure Lia, sure," she says, dragging them off to another room to work with them. 

In the _percussion (pit)_ sectionals: Pippin laughs, and falls off of the stool that they've given him to stand on. The pit section leader and the adult helper glare waspishly at him. "What the heck is so funny?" demands Karen, the section leader. "You guys are!" cries Pippin, rolling on the ground. Merry starts to laugh also, but he thankfully keeps his more contained. Sam and Frodo sigh, and both try at once to explain their friends' behavior. 

"You see, you humans," begins Frodo,

"You act so oddly sometimes," says Sam,

"Not eating enough, and yet some of you look so…so…so funny and jiggily and.." says Pippin, who's now laughing so hard tears are rolling down his cheeks.

"He means lots of you are fat. Like in this health magazine that we found in the parking lot…" Merry tries to explain. The entire pit percussion section stares, wondering what to do with these people that are clearly insane. Gandalf bursts in at that moment, sees the problem, and instantly drags off all four hobbits to speak to them…oh dear…

and, I must say, that's the end of Chapter 2. Sorry it took me so long, u guys!


	3. Lunch and the attack of the fangirls

To my reviewers:

I must apologize to all of you. The story that was started to get over writer's block has now become the cause of it…my English teacher has us write for her class constantly, and I think I've killed most of my plot bunnies. ::looks sadly to where they lay dead on the floor by computer:: So if you know anyone who wants to get rid of some, I'll adopt! (and marching season is over for us now, so updates should be coming MUCH more frequently)

Ellewyn Greenleaf: thank you. I think you might be on your way to being my number one reviewer. I'm glad the rest of your band liked it too. Tell them thanks!

Sangwalen: ::grins:: sexy saxophones? I like that! Except at our school it should probably be perverted saxophones…hehehe…some of the others have VERY twisted minds. Not that I'm one to talk…hehe

Alyak: yeah, we do have a color guard here—my best friend is on it. I explain in this chapter why none of them are on it.

Fool of a Took: ours was from 8-5. You might get this impression from the chapter, but lots of our section leaders are kind of scary. I tried to put them all in *good* sections—and our trombone section is very scary—section leader who isn't all there, and sophomore who is mean and acts like the section leader (and tortures the freshmen).

Chapter 3:

Lunchtime on Wednesday:

Pippin stares at the spaghetti on his plate and starts to say something about how little it was, but I shove him on. The other hobbits take note of this and only take what they're offered. "Look, that may not look like much to a hobbit," I tell him, "but it's quite a lot for a human." 

"Really?"

"Yes," I reply, quite seriously. 

"How do you keep from starving to death?" asks Pippin in horror. "Merry, I just don't understand!" he tells his cousin. "They only eat 3 times a day, and some of them only 2, and they eat so little when they do eat, and they're all still alive!"

The rest of the fellowship (minus, of course, the other 3 hobbits, who are equally puzzled) share a laugh with me about this. The hobbits are still very confused about humans, even after Gandalf's explanations and travelling with the fellowship and its non-hobbit members for a while. We find seats for all ten of us (plus a few of my very best friends) at one of the tables, and settle down to eat. The hobbits ignore the rest of us to concentrate on their food. As soon as they're finished (which is much sooner than the rest of us) they go around to eat the salads that most people (mostly the guys, actually) have left uneaten on the table. We let them, figuring that this will keep them out of trouble. 

Of course, trouble won't stay away from the rest of us. A color-guard member wanders up to the table, and smiles at Legolas. "Hello, there," she says, and he exchanges greetings with her. "So, to get down to the point, I noticed you didn't have any of them join the guard," she tells me with a glare. "You should have. We could use the extra people."

"Well, you see, Beth, you guys were all inside when they showed up, and I forgot about you," I tell her calmly.

"How could you forget about us?" she wails. 

"Um…because I only know one of you well," I try.

"So?"

"Um…I just did, ok? Sorry."

"You aren't sorry. If you were sorry, then you'd change your mind and let somebody join me."

"Like who?" 

"Oh, I don't care. Him, I guess" she says casually, pointing at Aragorn. 

"Sorry, the altos need him," I reply. 

"Well, what about him?" she asks, pointing a Legolas. 

"No! He's with me! Don't you dare try to take him away!" I cry, and then notice everyone is looking at me oddly. "Um, I mean—Legolas, do you want to go be a part of the guard?" 

"The guard? Oh, you mean the people with the flags and fake swords and fake—other things?" 

"The other things are called rifles. Rifles. And yeah, that's who it is."

"Um…no. I don't think so. Their instructor seems unkind," he says.

"Well, Matt _is_ kind of mean," I admit. 

"He's just strict, is all," Beth protests.

"Yeah, and that's just why he gets mad all of the time and yells at you," I say.

"That doesn't happen," Beth argues, and I realize that that doesn't happen, not at band camp (A/N: realize I am writing this several weeks after band camp has ended, and I've given my band camp self knowledge of the future. So it's confusing, I know, but bear it, please. And the guard instructor really is mean—that's why I didn't put any of them in guard.)

"Oh. Um…."

"I still don't want to do that," says Legolas as politely as possible. "I am just getting to know my oboe. His name is Joel," he tells Beth solemnly. 

"Really?" she asks him, staring at him oddly. "Maybe you can stay with that….um … what-ya-ma-call-it instrument." 

"An oboe," I say wearily, and she says, 

"Yeah. That thing."

She gets up and hurries away, glancing back at us with an odd look every once in a while. I sigh, and look at Legolas apologetically. 

"Sorry."

"Hey, it's alright. You can't help what she does."

"Thank you. So anyway, I was thinking—"

"Look! There he is!" I whip my head around, and see several girls that I don't know (and who aren't in the band) banging on the doors to get in. Another band member unknowingly goes to let them in. 

"NO!" I shriek, but it's already to late.

"Yay!" scream the girls, knocking the poor band member over in there rush to our table. The hobbits turn from their salad eating (and exclamations of "Hey, that one has more mushrooms than mine!) to see the girls. They yelp in horror, and as one, flee into the bandroom. The group splits in two, with one group following the hobbits and the other converging on our table. 

"Legolas!" cries one girl, locking him in a hug. 

"Aragorn!" shrieks another, knocking he and his chair over.

"Boromir!" yells a third, grabbing him as he tries to flee. (note: Gimli and Gandalf look very pleased about the fact that no one is chasing _them._ I ask them later why they don't get jealous and Gimli replies: "Huh. Like I'd get jealous. Naturally those girls have bad taste—they aren't dwarves!" and Gandalf says: "I'm old. I don't have the energy to fend off mobs of young girls.")

I look around and notice for the first time that the other girls have, unfortunately, found out where the hobbits went. I sigh, wondering if I should save the elf and humans or the hobbits. I settle on a compromise. "Gandalf!"

"What?"

"Here, look, here in the handbook for the school—hugging isn't allowed." (and it really isn't!) 

"So?

"So you have to make them stop since we gave you adult responsibilities." Gandalf sighs and starts knocking crazed fan-girls out by smacking them on the head with his staff. "Gimli, help him," I command, "and use the handle of your ax! The handle—you can't kill anyone!" I run towards the bandroom as I hear Gimli yell.

"Back away, you smelly rabid fan-girls, before I chop your heads off!"

**************************************************************************************

As I arrive in the bandroom, I find that the hobbits have actually done quite well for themselves—they've managed to hide behind the percussion equipment. The fan-girls are frantically searching together, and don't even notice the addition of myself to their number. (plus one is chanting Frodofrodofrodofrodofrodo so loudly I'm amazed they can hear themselves thing…then again, maybe they can't!)

"I can't imagine why my little Pippin doesn't want to be cuddled!" says one. 

"Pippin? Ugh! Frodo is much cuter!" squeals one. I cringe. I have a sort of high voice, and I can squeak when necessary, but that was ANNOYING!

I try to not let that show, though. I must pretend I am one of these crazed maniacs if I am to protect the hobbits as I promised that I would.

"Look!" I exclaim, trying to make my voice higher. "Looklooklook! I see Sam!" I point to the doors that lead to the equipment room. 

A girl cries out in excitement and runs towards the equipment room. A few others follow her. I stare at the rest and yell, "Come on!"

"I just want to cuddle Frodo!" cries the girl who's been chanting his name.

"NO! MERRY!"

"PIPPIN!"

They look like they're going to start a brawl right there in the middle of the band room. I really don't want that. Mr. Sanders would kill me. So: "Hey guys! Don't the hobbits go everywhere together?!" 

"Oh…yeah, I guess they do."

"I bet they're all together!"

They charge past me into the equipment room. I hurry after, and point to the doors leading outside. "They're that way. Outside. And you have to run really fast and hard away from the school to find them, all right?" 

"Yeah!" scream the girls, and they practically rip the doors open. I slam the doors shut, and go to see how Gandalf and Gimli have fared. 

**************************************************************************************

"Yeah, that's right! Don't come back!" roars Gimli, and I watch as the remaining fan-girls flee for their lives. I smile, and then look at the mess around the room…

"Mr. Sanders is going to be so mad," I groan, noting the overturned chairs and spilled food.. Gandalf sighs, and straightens his robes "I'll take care of it," he says. "I've already had several other adults offer to help me. You ought to go practice your music some more," he sighs, hurrying to clean up the mess. As soon as the other eight and I leave the safety of Gandalf's company, we're onslaught by the rest of the band. 

"Who were those people?"

"What was wrong with those girls?"

"They seriously had problems!"

"They better not have hurt my drum player!"

"Or my saxophones!"

"Yeah!"

"Cassandra, who were they?"

"Woah! Slow down! Those girls were fan-girls. They are completely and totally devoted to everything related to The Lord of the Rings—especially the Fellowship. Now, you see, I myself and also a fan-girl, I am just not a rabid one—I understand that the guys need a little breathing space (::giggles:: I can say this because they aren't really here—if they were, I'd be latched on the Legolas with one arm, Aragorn with the other! lol!). Right guys?"

"Right!"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"That's it! That's what I've been needing!"

"Gimli was not the target of an attack, and is consequently ok, though he defended his friends bravely," I add quickly, as Gimli glares. "Aragorn and Boromir are also fine, Lia, so calm down. Breathe. It's ok." Questions answered, we relax. 

Our resting time is not long, though, because Mr. Sanders suddenly yells: "Everyone back outside! GO! We have a lot of work to do!" We sigh and stand wearily, then walk outside. However, I realize I've left the hobbits in the band room. I hurry to get them, and they sigh when I tell them we have to get back to work. "Does that mean lunch is over?"

"Yes, Pippin, it does."


	4. Questions and the Start of the Party

A/N: very short chapter, and I'm very very sorry, but I just had to write a cliffhanger. I HAD TO!

To my reviewers:

Ellewyn Greenleaf: our state finals were October 27th, and we didn't qualify. That's why our season's over already. We got absolutely _destroyed_ at Regionals…not that that wouldn't have been different if we had had the fellowship with us! (actually, it might not have been…we live right next to the city that had the #2 band in the country last year—we aren't in their class, but you get the picture)

Emmithar: thank you for reviewing! You just made my day! ::hugs reviewer:: And yes, pic might match him better, but (and now I like I hate everyone) I don't like the flute/pic section leader either. She's mean to one of my best friends. Anyway, I'm glad u like, and here's that update you asked for!

Chapter 4: Friday Night's Party (and Initiation)

One more A/N: Initiation was disgusting. It's filthy, messy business, and I had to go through it this year. But, as I will have the opportunity to torture some Freshmen in 4 years, all is well… 

"No way! They don't actually do that at a PARTY, do they?" Boromir stares and me, unbelieving. 

"Of course they do. That's what Freshmen Initiation is."

"But…what's a freshman?" asks Sam.

"Someone who's in their first year of high school…or really, more like someone who's in 9th grade."

"Oh…what's a grade?"

"Um….a year, sort of. A school year."

"What's a school year?"

"It's the time from August to June when we're in school."

"Oh. So…your ninth school year, and your first year of high school?"

"Yeeeeessssssssssssss."

"Then I don't have to worry. None of us do. It's all right, Mr. Boromir. None of us are in our first year of high school."

"Well…we might have to enroll you to keep you in the band, but we'll see."

"But as of NOW we aren't."

I sigh. Obviously this isn't getting us anywhere. "Well, It's also for first-time members of the band. That's why the 8th grade guard members are getting initiated, and the people who didn't come to the Survivor Party last year."

"What did we survive?"

"Band camp."

"Oh. I bet that's not as hard as carrying the Ring, is it, Mr. Frodo?" Sam turns to his master, sure that Frodo will protect his opinion. Frodo does—to a point.

"Well, no. Of course not—if you're talking about when we're in Middle Earth. Here, it feels…light. Like it is a normal ring. Are you SURE we can't leave it here?"

"Yes. I'm sure. Bad attempt at a subject change, by the way, Sam." Sam walks away, muttering under his breath. "Last year, as I was telling Boromir, they smeared make-up all over the girls' faces, and sent the guys through an ice cream Sunday slide, and then dumped just about every liquid food idem all mixed together on their heads."

"That's inhumane!" protests Bormoir, and Aragorn, who has joined the conversation, nods. 

"Why do they do that?"

"Because they do all sorts of horrible things to the Freshmen."

"Why?"

"Um….'cause everybody does."

"Who's everybody?"

"Like, all the sports teams, and the choir, and just everyone!"

"But why?"

"I don't know? How am I supposed to know? I'm a Freshmen, I don't know how the twisted minds of Seniors work!"

"What's a senoir?" I groan, and slam my head into the wall. 

"That looked painful," says one of the hobbits, and since my head is now throbbing, I can't tell which on it is. 

"Shut up," I grumble, walking away. Then I just realize what I've said—to a member of the Fellowship! "Ok, ok, I'll tell you! But then will you stop with the questions? It's bad enough I've worked my butt off all week and am getting crap dumped on me tonight…!" 

"Sorry!"

"Sheesh! She's grouchy when she gets mad!"

"It's kind of funny!"

"Um…are you all right, Cassandra?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine. A Senoir is someone…"

**************************************************************************************

Now we're at the survivor party, which marks the end of Band Camp (oh, thank you, God Almighty! You are indeed a merciful savoir! J Right….::notes odd stares of readers:: ok, moving on). We're standing around waiting, because we don't get to eat for a while, since all of the food isn't ready yet. So I, along with the rest of the freshmen + fellowship, are hanging around watching the Seniors prepare their instruments of torture. Two kiddie pools, one normal and one shaped like a fish. A giant tarp. Various food items including, at the first glance: pickles, chocolate sauce, instant cornmeal, rice, raw eggs, mustard, ketchup, barbecue sauce…etc. "Ewww….that's so gross…." I moan, hurriedly turning from the sight of gleeful Seniors filling the pools up with water and cracking raw eggs into one, and emptying the bottles of chocolate sauce into the other. 

"What are we doing with the pickles?" one of them screams to another, who is happily spreading the tarp out. 

"We're putting them in the normal shaped kiddie pool!"

"The one with the chocolate sauce?"

"Duh, you idiot! Aren't kiddie pools normally little circles?"

"I don't remember!"

"Well, you should And anyway, we're dumping them in there, and then they have to—hey! You guys! You can't watch! Go eat something and stay away!" Groaning, we obey, and wander off the eat some chips—something that the hobbits have taken a liking to."

"Don't eat to many," I warn. "I have a really sick feeling about those pickles."

"I like pickles," says a cheerful Merry.

"Me too!" yells Frodo.

"We do too!" cry the other two hobbits.

"Actually, I'm rather fond of them, also," adds Boromir. Legolas stares at me blankly, as does Gimil.

"Um…What's a pickle?"

I groan, ready for another bout of question answering. 

**************************************************************************************


	5. Initiation: with some changes

Disclamer: see first chapter

A/N: computers are evil and I hate them. More will hopefully be up soon if the stupid machine lets it be. ::glowers at computer::

Chapter 5 Initiation

"Hey! Everyone who hasn't been initiated yet, come over here!" yells our Senior drum major. I groan, get up, and trudge over there. "Everybody pick a partner!"

I pair up with Legolas, Aragorn and Boromir are together, Sam and Frodo, Merry and Pippin, and Gimli and Gandalf. 

"I'm an adult! I'm an adult! You can't make me do this!" roars Gandalf. 

"Well, we don't normally make the adults do this, but I, the all powerful author, have decided it will be funny. So, here you are."

"That's not fair."

"Well, I never said it was, but I'm the author, so that's how it's going to be." Gandalf storms away muttering under his breath. 

"Get back here!" I roar, and he comes back, still muttering. Finally, the Seniors begin to explain what lies ahead of us. "First, you have to walk across this tarp, covered in dish soap and water, and you have to carry this cup full of water across. If you spill any, then you have to do it over. Then, you have to get in this little kiddie pool—this one, the one shaped like a fish!—and you have to fish these two little figures out of it. Then, you go on to the normal shaped kiddie pool, and you get to bob in the chocolate sauce there for pickles. Any questions?"

"Um…yeah! I'm allergic to chocolate!"

"Yeah, nice try, Lizzie." 

"Well, it was worth a shot, right?"

"Well, I guess. Not a very original idea, though."

"Chocolate? I want to eat chocolate! But I really AM allergic to it," says Jennifer, another girl.

"You don't get to eat it, silly!" I moan under my breath.

"I have a question," says Legolas.

"What?" asks Lia.

"What is in the pool where we have to fish the two figurines out?"

"Oh, lots. Cold water, ketchup, mustard, barbecue sauce, instant corn muffin mix…"

"Stop it! I don't want to heat any more!" I yell, covering my ears. "Well, I don't! It's disgusting."

I look for my brother, but he's sitting in the grass with his 'just friend' girlfriend. 

"If they want people to believe that they're only friends," I hear Aragorn mutter, "then they ought to stop cuddling like that. Arwen and I had the same problem…" he trails off, noticing that we're all looking at him oddly. "We did! I promise you! That's why…"

"Aragorn, I believe I've heard the phrase since the time we've been here...um…oh yes, 'quit while you're ahead.' I believe that applies here," laughs Legolas.

"Oh shut up," grumbles Aragorn, taking a swat at Legolas. Naturally, he misses, because of Legolas's elven dodging skills, and his second attempt is interrupted by Lia. 

"Hey! Would you two stop it and let me talk!"

"Yes, Lia," Aragorn mutters, and I have to stifle a giggle at the look on his face. 

"I can't believe we have to do this," mutters Gandalf unhappily. 

"Oh shut up! We'll probably throw Mr. Sanders in later, so chill, ok?" demand my friend Emily.

(Realizing that the chapter is going nowhere, and has henceforth been the cause of a major block, I, the wonderful authoress, decide to make it a bit more…interesting.)

"Orcs!" cries Legolas, jumping up and grabbing for his bow, which I had suggested he take off for the initiation. Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and Gandalf leap to their feet. The hobbits are a bit slower, but they get up there, too, all of them drawing weapons that were on the ground next to them.

"Oooohhhh….the fellowship fighting…" mutter random people. I sigh, unhappy that I can't join them. Legolas has been teaching me the bow, and I think I'm rather good at it. I kick at a rock, until suddenly, Aragorn is beside. 

"Use it!" he roars, meaning the rocks. 

"Good idea!"I pick up a rock and fling it at the nearest orc. He falls, and I realize that, though I haven't killed him, I've stunned him at the very least. 

I've hardly gotten over my excitement at this before suddenly, out of the blue, without any prompting from me, the air ripples in front of us all, and Sauron, yes, the dark lord himself, is there. With his wraiths. All nine. 

Eyes all over turn to me expectantly. However, they are surprised at my reaction "That—that wasn't supposed to happen…" I whisper in horror. A couple of orcs I thought we could handle, but…Sauron? We're in trouble now…

The battle continues, unchanged except for one fact—Frodo is now being protected, rather than all of we unarmed and untrained musicians, who, of course, Sauron doesn't care two hoots about. Inspired by my single felled orc, several others have picked up rocks and are flinging them. I watch as Tom, the tuba player whose house we are at, frantically assures his mother that the stone path leading to their garden can be replaced, and that the bodies and the blood can be cleaned up. I pitch a rock at the orc who is attempting to use Mrs.Yiller's hysterics to his advantage. It isn't that different from a baseball, I decide, if I try not to think about it. And, of course, if I ignore the fact that the orc was alive and moving. _It's evil, _I remind myself, chucking another rock. 

Sauron hasn't moved to do anything yet. Probably he just wants to let his henchmen do everything for him. Heck, for all I know, as evil as he is, the battle is like settling down to watch his favorite TV show! I think about trying to knock him out, but decide against it. After all…if I didn't bring him here, and he isn't doing anything, maybe leaving him alone is for the best. The wraiths are just sitting there too. It's really starting to creep me out. Frustrated, I turn and look behind me just in time to dodge a brick somebody's found. It hits an orc who I didn't notice right next to me. "Thanks, Lia!"

"Hey, no problem," she yells, tossing a pigtail out of her face. (man, that makes her sound like a little kid. But she's not! She's a senior!) 

Eventually, we've managed to kill all of the orcs, and look uneasily at Sauron. "That was well done," he says, in that deep and really freaky voice of his. I step forward, unhappy that the dark lord has managed to find his way here, into my story, without my permission. 

"Hey! Sauron. Who the heck brought you here?"

"Well, I brought myself, of course. And I couldn't possibly come without my wraiths."

"Well, you can't have the ring."

"The ring? What ring? Oh, _the_ Ring!"

"Duh! What are you here for, if not that?"

"Well, honestly, Cass, I thought that answer would be obvious."

"Well, it isn't, so, you'd better fill us in."

"We've come to join your band, of course!" Sauron tells me, as if I'm the stupidest person in the world.

"You've…what?"

"Cass, who cares? Let's just get on with initiation, shall we?" yells Amy. 

"You're still gonna make that happen?" I cry.

"Of course. What, you thought killing a bunch of orcs would get you out of it? Keep dreaming, Cass, and get over here!"

Grumbling about the disposal of my all mighty authoress powers, I walk back to the starting line of the initiation tarp. Looking up, I see that Sauron and the wraiths haven't moved. 

"well, get over here, then. Hurry! Come on, I don't have all day! Now, pick a partner, all of you, while I try to figure out what section to put you in!"


	6. The Colorguard finally gets some new mem...

**************************************************************************************

Replies, which I neglected to do for chapter 5:

Lassemista: Thanks so much for reviewing! Francis is a cool name. I bet ur clarinet is really cool!

GoddessOfChaos: YAY! Another lone oboe player. I'm the only oboe at my school as well, and I'm incredibly shy. Not a good combo…we just had this college band come and Mr. Sanders was like, "Cassandra! Did you hear the oboes? Yes! You could actually hear them!" grrr….

Emmithar: Thanks for the sympathy about regionals…is really sucks getting so far and then losing, doesn't it? 

Wildmage42: Spam? EWW!!!! You are incredibly luck you have no initiation. Evil _evil_ seniors. My section leader (Lia) shoved me into the pool with mustard and eggs and brownie mix when I wouldn't fall in. Only 4 years until I get to be one of the evil ones…how I'll relish that! 

JJ-Ring freaks: Glad u like it! A clarinet? Hmm…well, I'll see what I can do. 

A/N: Maybe Arwen and the twins would be a good addition. What do you guys think? Or Haldir and Glorfindel? Though I'm not sure I could keep them quite in character. It's been a while since I read the books.

Chapter 6: The colorguard finally gets some extra members and I have a fight with Sauron

"Well, weren't you complaining about not having a big guard?" I ask my best friend, Ali. 

"well, yes…but them?" She's referring, of course, to the Nazgul, who have been added to the color guard. 

I don't think anybody really wants to see them in kilts, though…which is probably what the wraiths will somehow wear, seeing as how the previously all girl color guard are wearing little black dresses with green and dark gold plaid sashes. (Our show has a Celtic theme) I _really_ don't think anyone wants to see a wraith in that stuff….maybe we'll just let them keep their whole black getup…the audience will think it's just part of the show. Maybe we can say that they're supposed to be some sort of weird ghosts or something. I'll have to talk to Matt, the guard instructor, about it. If he'll even bother to talk to me about it. He's such a jerk most of the time. He won't even look at you unless you're in guard! Well, that's about to change, because there's no way I'm giving him full reign over the Nazgul. I'm still not entirely sure their intentions are true.

"Excuse me, sir," I say, looking up at Matt. It's not that far—he's pretty short. He ignores me for a moment, until he finished catches the flag that he's thrown up in the air. "Like that, girls. Catch it like this, see? All right. Now, what can I do for you?" Surprised by his kindness, I take a minute to answer. "You see, it's about the men I brought you. They aren't exactly, well, that is, they…"

"They are…different?"

"Yeah. So, you know?"

"I made it a point to know. I went out and bought _The Fellowship of the Ring."_

"You went and bought the book and read it already?"

"I bought it right after band camp, and have read it since then." Of course, you must see that, since band camp ends with initiation (which was carried through after all, though the Seniors complained about how the battle seemed to have overshadowed it), we are no longer at band camp. 

We're at a night practice, which are held every Tuesday and Thursday nights from 6—8:30. They start up as soon as school does—a mere three weeks after band camp ends. We've managed to work it so that the school just thinks that all of the Middle Earth members are home-schoolers who come in for band to "broaden their artistic abilities." We had a little trouble explaining their odd styles of dress until we managed to force the fellowship into somewhat 2002ish clothing, pretend that the hobbits are just midgets, and that Gandalf is the teacher of their school. 

We also managed to convince them that the wraiths are simply wearing their guard uniforms (which is why I figured Matt and I would have to have this conversation. Sauron we haven't fit into the show yet. (any ideas, guys? What should I make Sauron play/do/be?) I didn't have a clue where to put him, and besides, we have to sneak him in the back doors, anyway, just like we sneak in the pizza delivery guy when we have parties (through our uniform room. It has doors leading into the bandroom, and external doors, as well. They're very convenient!).

"All right, people!" Mr. Sanders yells, "I know it's raining. Just leave your instruments inside, grab your umbrellas, and get out here!" (A/N: we actually did this once, though it was right before Regionals. There was lightning in the distance and everything. Mostly it was heat lightning, though, and the only one really in that much danger was Mr. Sanders, seeing as how he stands on a giant METAL podium to watch us!) "I know it's cold, I know it's rainy, I know we'll all probably come down with pneumonia, but come on guys! We want a first division this year at Regionals, don't we?"

"Yes!" We've never gotten a first division at regionals before. It is Mr. Sander's fifth or sixth year here, and before he came to us we had 5 band directors in 5 years, so his first year there were only about 20 people in the band. Not exactly good odds for a first. But this year, this year there are 96 of us. We are a B class band (finally!) and even though we only have Mr. Sanders to help all of us (plus our guard instructor and one other guy who only comes in a few days a week), we might actually do this. "What we want is to get out of regionals, right, gang?!" 

"Yes!" We already think we're getting to regionals in the first place. Mr. Sanders said that he was pretty sure we'd get out of district last week. 

"Okay, then. At the dance in the third song. C'mon, guys. No mistakes this time! None! Okay, Katie, start it!"

Katie, one of our drum majors, calls us to attention, and we hurry to get in attention position. "All right. March time, march!" she yells, and we begin We only get through the first move, though, because half of the band has doubled over in laughter. The guard is doing an awesome little Celtic dance here, but the addition of the ringwraiths has made the thing hilarious. They can't maneuver their feet properly with all those black robes, and watching them try to put their hands on their hips and toss their heads is hilarious. Matt is furious, and Mr. Sanders is desperate. We have to fit the wraiths in somehow—they threatened to chop off the percussion section leader's head if they didn't get to stay in the show—and then they moved on to threaten the trumpet section leaders. We hastily put them in. Sauron just stands by the side glaring hatefully at Frodo. He's really scary. (btw, it's Sauron with a body. Think to the beginning of fellowship when he's in all the armor. That Sauron. Sure the timing's a little off, but we'll get over that for now, ok?) 

"STOP MAKING FUN OF MY WRAITHS…" he's hissing, and instantly, half of us stop. The rest look at his face, and laugh harder. "AND DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT ME!" The half still laughing stops as he seems to grow and his eyes begin to glow eerily. 

"Come on, Sauron, please, stop it! You're scaring people," I plead, and he glares hatefully at me. 

"YOU DO NOT HAVE POWER OVER ME," he booms.

"Well, you sure as heck don't have any over me, either, buddy," I say, finally getting ticked off.

"I HAVE POWER OVER EVERYBODY," he insists.

"You know what? You messed up my story, you big bully, so I'd shut up about you and your cursed _power_, ok?"

"WHAT? YOU CANNOT SAY THAT!"

"I can too! Now! If you are just going to sit there and scare people, I'll…I'll…I'll sick fangirls on you!"

"NO FANGIRL OBSESSES ABOUT ME."

"Really? I can't imagine why. But I can change that if I want to!"

"NO, YOU CANNOT."

"Wanna bet? I'm the all powerful authoress, here, not you!"

"NOT ALL POWERFUL. YOU HAVE NO PO—"

"Would you shut up about that?"

"Cassandra! Sauron!! I don't allow fighting! If you must argue, then leave, _right now_!" roars Mr. Sanders.

"Sorry, Mr. Sanders," I mutter, hurrying back to my space, as the drill begins again. 

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!" we chant as we march. Our invitational is this weekend, and it's one of the first competitions. In fact, it's our first. We've decided that, to be ready for it, we need tons more practice than we already have—especially since that day, every single one of us will be tied up with some sort of a job. Legolas and I are selling programs. Most of my friends are stamping hands with the hobbits. Aragorn and Boromir are going to work in the concession stand as soon as they get used to the idea of the hairnets.(I've been making them wear some hairnets every day when we get home so that they're used to them and don't try to take them off when they're actually working there. They say it's itchy. I don't get it. Since when have hairnets been itchy?) Gandalf and Gimli were going to get put there too, but we decided that with the beards, there would just be too much hair to put into nets—so we're putting then as judges' assistants. They get to run up and down the flights of stairs that goes to the press box to the concession stand and also to contest headquarters, at the nearby school. Fun for them! (NOT!) But that's the only place where we needed people. Oh well. 


End file.
